Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
FRANCINE
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape my chest.
Kieran’s eyes that gazed at me with such heat and possessiveness just hours ago are now cold and hard as steel. The newspaper clippings in his hands might as well be a smoking gun.
I clutch my towel tighter, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my near-nakedness. This isn’t how I wanted him to find out. Not like this. Not with me dripping wet and vulnerable while he sits on my bed holding physical evidence of the worst thing my mother ever did.
The worst thing anyone in my family ever did.
“Why do you have these?” he demands again, his voice dangerously quiet.
Water drips from my hair down my back, each cold droplet making me shiver. Or maybe it’s fear making me tremble. I can’t tell anymore.
“I’m not snooping,” I manage to say, the words barely above a whisper. “They’re mine. I brought them with me.”
His breathing is harsh, each exhale like a growl. I’ve never seen him like this—not even when he was taking me at my most vulnerable during heat. That was passion, possession. This is something darker. Something wounded and dangerous.
“Why would you have newspaper clippings about this fire?” he asks, rising to his feet. The papers crumple in his fist. “Do you know what this is? Do you have any idea what you’re playing with?”
“I’m not playing,” I say, my voice breaking. “Kieran, please, I can explain.”
“Then explain,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks bad, Francine. Really fucking bad.”
The words stick in my throat. I’ve rehearsed this confession a thousand times in my head, but now that the moment is here, I can’t find the right way to say it. There is no right way—just the ugly, brutal truth.
“My mother started the fire,” I blurt out, the words falling from my lips like stones.
Kieran goes completely still. For a moment, I think he hasn’t heard me. But then I see the shift in his eyes as they darken from blue to almost black.
His face drains of all color. He looks frozen.
“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice so quiet it’s barely audible.
“My mother,” I repeat, tears spilling down my cheeks. “She started the fire that killed your parents. I only found out recently. I’ve been trying to understand it, to process it. That’s why I have the clippings.”
I watch as the information sinks in, as the full weight of what I’ve just told him registers in his expression. His nostrils flare, his jaw clenches. The air in the room seems to vibrate with his barely contained fury.
“Your mother,” he says slowly. “Murdered my parents. Tore my family apart.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway, unable to speak through my tears.
“And you knew this when you came here? When you applied to be Nora’s nanny? When you let me…when we…” He stops, unable to continue, his face contorted with disgust and betrayal.
“No!” I cry, desperate for him to understand. “I only found out after I’d already started working here. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was trying to find the right time to tell you. To apologize.”
“There is no right way to tell someone your mother murdered their parents,” he cuts in, his voice like ice. “Put your clothes on.”
I blink, confused by the abrupt command. “What?”
“Put. Your. Clothes. On.” Each word is precise, clipped. “We’re done here.”
“Kieran, please,” I say softly, taking a step toward him. I feel bad, and the excruciating pain of getting rejected is hitting me. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t know—”
“Put your clothes on, Francine,” he says. “Now.”
I drop my towel, my hands shaking so badly I can barely function. I grab underwear from the drawer, feeling his hard gaze on me as I step into it. The silence in the room is suffocating, broken only by my ragged breathing and the rustle of fabric as I dress.
I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering with a bra or socks. My fingers fumble with the button of my jeans. Part of me wants to run to him, to throw my arms around him, to make him understand that I’m not my mother.
That I would never hurt him, never hurt anyone.
But the rigid set of his shoulders, the cold fury radiating from him in waves, keeps me rooted in place. This is a side of Kieran I’ve never seen. This is an alpha consumed by grief and rage, a man who has just had old wounds ripped open in the cruelest way possible.
“Kieran,” I try once more, my voice small. “Please talk to me. I’m sorry about your parents. I’m so sorry for what my mother did. But I’m not her.”
He says nothing, just walks to my suitcase and snaps it shut with brutal efficiency. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, then looks at me with eyes so devoid of warmth they could freeze fire.
“Let’s go,” he says, heading for the door without waiting to see if I follow.
I grab my purse and phone, my legs unsteady as I trail after him down the hallway where just yesterday he carried me, my body still filled with his cum, his whispered promises of forever still echoing in my ears.
The walk to my car is silent, the only sound our footsteps on the pavement. Kieran loads my suitcase into the trunk with mechanical precision, his face a mask of controlled rage. I stand helplessly beside the driver’s door, waiting for him to say something, anything.
Finally, he turns to me, his expression closed off, unreadable.
“What now?” I ask.
“Unfortunately,” he says, his voice clinical, detached, “I’ll need to hire a new nanny for Nora.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not just rejected as his omega, but also fired as Nora’s nanny.
Cut out of their lives completely. I think of the little girl with her bouncy curls and bright eyes, how she would run to me with books to read, how she would beg me to braid her hair like mine. I’ll never see her again.
“Kieran, please,” I whisper, tears flowing freely now. “Is this how it ends? After everything we shared during my heat? After you told me I was yours?”
A flash of pain flickers across his eyes.
“I’ve been looking for my parents’ killer for years,” he says flatly. “I don’t want to be involved with the killer’s family.”
“But I’m not…” I start, then stop, the words dying in my throat. In his eyes, I am my mother’s daughter. Tainted by association. Unworthy of his pack, his protection, his love. There’s nothing I can say anymore.
Tears blur my vision as I climb into the driver’s seat. Kieran closes the door for me with a finality that breaks whatever was left of my heart.
Through the window, I see his lips move.
“Drive safely,” he says, then turns and walks away without a backward glance.
I start the engine with numb fingers, pulling away from the house that felt like home for such a brief, magical time. In my rearview mirror, I watch Kieran’s figure growing smaller until he disappears altogether.
Only then do I let the full force of my grief overtake me.
Sobs rack my body, making it hard to breathe, hard to see the road through my tears. I pull over to the shoulder, unable to drive safely in this state.
I bury my face in my hands and cry for what might have been. Even though I kept refusing their marks, I had hope in my heart that we would become a family. I thought love was growing between us during these intense days of my heat.
The worst part is, I understand Kieran’s reaction. If someone told me their mother had killed my dads, would I be able to look past it? I don’t know.
This hurts. It hurts so bad. Fuck my life.
Eventually, my sobs subside enough that I can drive again. I feel hollow as I drive.
When I finally pull into my apartment complex, I sit in the car for several long minutes, unable to summon the energy to move. What’s the point? My apartment will be cold, empty. No pack waiting for me. No alphas to hold me, to protect me, to make me feel like I belong.
Finally, I drag myself out of the car, not bothering with my suitcase. I can get it later. Right now, all I want is to crawl into bed and disappear.
I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, keys in hand, when I see a figure leaning against my door. For a wild, hopeful moment, I think it’s Kieran, come to apologize, to take me back.
But as I get closer, I realize it’s Drake, his sandy-blond hair tousled, his green eyes lighting up when he sees me. My heart sinks and soars simultaneously. I’m grateful to see him, but his presence is a painful reminder of what I’ve lost.
“There’s my favorite omega,” he says with a wide grin that quickly fades as he takes in my tear-stained face. “What’s wrong?”
I try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace.
“Hi, Drake,” I say listlessly, moving past him to unlock my door. My hands shake so badly I can barely get the key in the lock.
Drake’s hand covers mine, steadying it.
“Something seems off,” he says, his playful demeanor replaced with seriousness. “Tell me.”
I push the door open and step inside, not looking at him. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He follows me in, closing the door behind him. Before I can move away, he grabs my wrist and gently pins me against the wall, his body close but not touching mine. The familiar scent of cinnamon and leather surrounds me, making my eyes sting with fresh tears.
“You are not fine,” he says firmly. “Talk to me, Francine. What happened?!”
The warmth of his body so close to mine, the genuine concern in his eyes…it’s too much. The dam breaks, and fresh tears spill down my cheeks.
“Kieran rejected me,” I choke out between sobs. “As an omega. As Nora’s nanny. Everything.”
Drake’s expression darkens, his jaw clenching with anger. “Why? What happened?”
I take a shuddering breath, preparing myself to lose Drake too once he knows the truth.
“My mother was the arsonist who killed your parents,” I whisper. “I didn’t know until recently, but Kieran found out today.”
Drake goes very still, his eyes widening with shock. For a long, horrible moment, I think he’s going to walk out too. To reject me just like Kieran did. I wait for the disgust, the anger, the inevitable withdrawal.
Instead, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me.
His lips are warm, insistent, moving against mine with a passion that takes my breath away. It’s not a heat-driven, desperate kiss like the ones we shared during my cycle. This kiss is softer and full of love.
When he pulls back, his eyes are fierce with determination. “You are not a killer, Francine. None of this is your fault.”
A sob escapes me, relief and disbelief warring within my chest. “But my mother—”
“It's not you,” Drake interrupts firmly. “You didn’t set that fire. You didn’t kill anyone.”
I swallow hard, pulling away slightly. I need him to understand the full weight of what he’s dismissing so easily. “It’s over, Drake. Kieran made that clear. It’s his decision.”
“What happened to your mother?” Drake asks, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. The tenderness of the gesture nearly breaks me all over again.
“She died,” I say flatly. “She was dying when she confessed to me. She killed my dads in that fire for the insurance money. Burned them alive when I was a child. She asked me to forgive her, but I couldn’t.”
Drake shakes his head, pulling me into his arms. “I will talk to him. He spoke out of strong feelings for you.”
I suddenly remember Kieran’s cold expression and how he never wants to see me again, and I bawl in Drake’s chest. “It doesn’t matter! He’s not going to change his mind. He thinks I lied to him and kept secrets.”
“He will,” Drake says with a certainty that surprises me. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I’ll talk to him. Make him see reason.”
“Don’t,” I plead. “Please, Drake. It will only make things worse.”
But I can see in his eyes that his mind is made up.
“I will never abandon you,” he promises fiercely, kissing my forehead. “Never.”
Before I can argue further, he’s pulling away, heading for the door. And then he’s gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
I sink to the floor, my back against the wall, and draw my knees to my chest. Alone again. The silence of my apartment presses in around me, nearly suffocating me as tears roll down my face.